Immortal Unrequited
by Demus
Summary: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was in love. Strange enough that he had been raised by elves, hunted by men and feared by the dark powers, but now he was in love with an elf. Wholly unattainable and unutterably desirable. A little tale of unrequited love.


I can explain. This comes as a result of a game and a dare between LadyBush and myself. It is set in Rivendell at the time when Aragorn is growing up there. I picture him as about fifteen or sixteen, but I'm not sure if he was actually in Rivendell at that time. Don't you just love the malleable world of fanfiction?

For my Lady, who liked the pairing

Disclaimer: I do not own LotR

So here it is, a ficlet about unrequited love.

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Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was in love. Strange enough that he had been raised by elves, hunted by men and feared by the dark powers, but now he was in love with an elf. Wholly unattainable and unutterably desirable. 

From a precarious position in one of Rivendell's many willowy trees, he gazed through the elegantly trellised windows at the object of his desire. Said object of desire was currently poring over hundreds of ancient scriptures and making careful precise notes on huge sheets of parchment. Aragorn watched as long battle-callused fingers, slender but strong, ghosted over cracked pages with infinite gentleness. Dusty tomes and delicate maps were each touched and turned with tender care. Old favourites were evident through unconscious affectionate caresses- Aragorn shivered slightly at the thought of those hands.

Absorbed in what he was doing, the elf's long dark hair was almost carelessly braided back and tucked behind pointed ears. Heavily embroidered robes fitted the trim form perfectly, the autumnal reds and oranges blending exquisitely with the pale complexion. The over robes hung loose, untended, but despite this the elf managed to look as elegant and wise as ever.

When he turned to search through a pile of scrolls on a small side table, Aragorn was able to study the striking profile- the singular facial lines defined a firm mouth, strong nose and deep brow. The youngster smiled to himself as he indulged in his contemplation of the scholarly master, usually so stern, softened by the whispering voices of the writings.

Suddenly, the elf swung round towards him. Ocean-dark eyes met sharp grey and Aragorn yelped in surprise, jumping at the shock. Set off balance, he caught a glimpse of the elf rushing to the window as he teetered and began to fall. With a yell of alarm, he lost his grip on the ages old bark and crashed through the branches. Bruised and battered, he cried out in pain as he landed awkwardly on his bent leg. The snap of bones rang out through the air.

Aragorn clenched his teeth as pain swept over him. He vaguely sensed the arrival of several running elves, alerted by his cries and the distress of the tree. A warm hand entwined with each of his own and arms were wrapped around him. He looked up to see the concerned faces of his foster brother. Elladan and Elrohir knelt next to him, lending him their strength as they eased him into a more comfortable position. The soothing ripple of Elvish filled the air as he gasped with pain. He allowed his mind to slip into the soft flowing speech, letting it bolster his shaken nerves.

Other gentle hands were assessing his injuries as a sudden shifting of bodies around him heralded the arrival of his spied-upon elf. Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Rivendell hurried towards his stricken charge, a group of his healers following him with his various pouches, bags and containers for his healing kit. Those same ocean-dark eyes that had met his with such intensity now took in the situation with a simple glance, the wise Elf-Lord immediately assessing the situation.

A voice made deep by the wisdom of ages and strong by the years of leadership spoke gently to him. The sound of that voice relaxed him, though it was too low and indistinct for his buzzing ears to distinguish words. A vial was held against his lips and he instinctively swallowed, trusting the arms that held him and the voices that spoke softly to him. The cordial made him feel drowsy and helped lessen the pain a little.

Still, he kept his eyes fixed on the object of his affections as the elf set to bandaging and splinting the leg. So experienced was the healer and such was his influence over Aragorn, the youngster felt no increase in pain from the treatment. He was aware of arms being folded under him, lifting him, but he still kept his infinitesimally closing eyes on the elf that he loved. That handsome face hovered in front of him as Elrond walked beside his sons. Eyes deeper than eternity stayed locked with his, the instantly recognisable voice crooning comforts at him as he was carried into the halls of the Last Homely House. The last thing Aragorn knew before oblivion claimed him was the touch of warm fingers to his brow, a last caress to ease him into a healing sleep.

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Next chapter may take a while, this is just a taster. 


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